


The More Things Change

by exbex



Series: Buddy/Duck [2]
Category: Wilby Wonderful (2004)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-01
Updated: 2011-04-01
Packaged: 2017-10-17 10:33:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/175935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/exbex/pseuds/exbex
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>sequel to "The Evolution of Duck MacDonald"</p>
    </blockquote>





	The More Things Change

**Author's Note:**

> sequel to "The Evolution of Duck MacDonald"

Duck had spent a lot of high school bending over and on his knees for Buddy French. Buddy was a nice guy, but he knew exactly what kind of effect he had on people, not what you could truly call arrogant, but he certainly never reciprocated, just tucked himself back in and gave Duck a quick nod of thanks every time. It didn’t make Buddy treat him any differently; they still ditched class sometimes to sneak a cigarette, Buddy still watched his back and took him to his parents’ house when Duck’s mom and dad were fighting. Duck appreciated it, even if there were feelings that he couldn’t even name tearing him up, feelings that he knew were better left unsaid because he wasn’t really allowed to have them.  
Later, Duck became of the guys who frequented The Watch, but he tired of it when he finally stopped hoping that Buddy would show up, just once. It was kind of encouraging that Buddy no longer looked for him in that sense; Duck liked the idea that Buddy was a good guy, faithful to his wife and all. If he spent most of the time he jerked off thinking about Buddy in that uniform, he figured it didn’t mean anything other than that Buddy was just as beautiful as he’d been twenty years ago.  
Duck chafed when Buddy looked at him and asked “like who?” Sure he hadn’t been at the The Watch during the raid, but Dan had, among others who were decent guys, and Buddy knew it, and Duck had sure thought that he cared more about his community. The thing with Sandra pissed him off too; Duck had spent more than a few nights in high school lending his shoulder as she cried over how he didn’t even notice her.  
Fourteen months after the whole mess went down, Carol and Dan were both gone. The more things change, the more they stayed the same. Still, the sight of Buddy stumbling drunk in Duck’s driveway was enough to make Duck both angry and sad at the same time, more angry than sad when Buddy lurched himself all over Duck, blubbering and trying to feed him some line.  
“Go fuck yourself,” Duck shoved him away, disgusted, and went inside. He was shaking; he’d never seen Buddy just lose control like that. Leave it alone, he decided. Buddy would drag himself home and pull himself together. Of course it didn’t work; Duck wasn’t one to let anyone just lay on his front lawn on a cold spring night. So he helped Buddy to his feet and deposited him on the couch. When he woke up the next morning Buddy was gone, and Duck thought that was that.  
Until three nights later, when he got home to find Buddy sitting on his front steps, dressed in jeans and a flannel shirt and still looking like a damn wet dream with his cigarette. There was enough room to brush past him and walk into the house, but Buddy stood and grabbed the door, following Duck inside. Duck leaned against the counter and rested his withering gaze on Buddy for a long while before asking the inevitable question. “What the hell do you want, Buddy?”  
Buddy wordlessly reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out condoms and a tube of slick. Duck sneered at the gall of it, “Fuck you.”  
“Exactly,” Buddy said, setting the lube and condoms down on the counter next to him, then turning his back on Duck, bracing himself against the sink, looking over his shoulder almost expressionlessly, but, at the same time, asking.  
No, no, just go home, Duck thought, but there was only so much temptation one could ignore, so he put his hands on Buddy’s hips while Buddy undid his pants and slid them down, spreading his legs. Duck shook himself; it was oddly familiar, even at the same time it was completely surreal. Duck smirked just slightly. If Buddy suddenly wanted to own up to being bent, then he’d make him go all the way. He dropped to his knees and tongued him, listening to Buddy gasp and feeling him jerk. When he was good and wet, Duck took the lube and spread a generous amount on his fingers, taking his time to work Buddy open, until Buddy was jerking his hips. Duck got to his feet and breathed deeply, taking slow, deep, thrusts, then harder and harder, digging his fingers into Buddy’s hips, coming long after Buddy. Buddy wasn’t exactly experienced, Duck could tell, and it had to hurt at least a little, but Duck knew they were both feeling a weariness that could only be abated by fucking it out.  
**  
Sometime in the night they’d made it to bed. Duck’s bed was narrow; nobody’d ever stuck around quite long enough for him to upgrade. There was a smell of salt and sex, and Buddy’s hair was sticking up. Duck couldn’t suppress a laugh, and Buddy’s eyes slowly opened. He wasn’t expecting Buddy to push himself up by both hands and work his way down, taking Duck’s cock into his mouth. It was pretty much the most inexpert, hesitant blowjob Duck had ever had, and it wasn’t the same picture that used to dance around in his fantasies twenty years ago, but it was raw and real and everything Duck hadn’t realized he needed.  
Afterwards they showered, went to work, and Duck figured that was that; a one-time fluke.  
It should have been strange, or at least wrong, when it happened again the next week, both of them stone-cold sober and without so much as an exchange of words.  
**  
Still, Duck figured he was too old for this shit. This little game of left unsaid had worked out just fine when he was a horny teenager, but Buddy French didn’t just get to walk into this part of his life like this with no explanation, which was why Duck found himself waiting in Buddy’s driveway, an extra pack of cigarettes in his pocket. Buddy got out of his car and indicated with a nod of his head for Duck to follow him inside.  
They were each halfway through a third one before Duck asked the inevitable question. “What’s this all about Buddy?” He took another drag on his cigarette and, with careful restraint, kept his voice even. “I’m not your hole anymore, and I’m not interested in you being mine.”  
There seemed to be a catch in Buddy’s voice, and Duck wasn’t sure if it was laughter or anger. “You really think that’s what it was all about?” Buddy didn’t wait for an answer. “I had girlfriends, Duck. And they weren’t all staunch virgins. I wasn’t just going back to you for the sex. I just didn’t have the guts to tell you the truth.”  
Duck didn’t have time to ponder this surprising new information, because Buddy was kissing him. Buddy’s lips were chapped, and he was kind of smashing Duck into the couch with his intensity, and he hadn’t had time to even catch his breath. So no, this wasn’t playing out anything like it had in those old fantasies.  
It was better.  
Duck gripped Buddy by the arms, and managed to see out of the corner of his eye that Buddy was doing the same thing to him, so tightly that his knuckles were turning white. Duck finally pulled away, taking in a breath. “I’m not going anywhere, Buddy.”  
Buddy seemed to contemplate it, for a moment, before quickly standing and running his hands through his hair. “Bed,” he murmured.  
It was something they’d never done, facing one another, thrusting against each other. It seemed, oddly, more intimate than all the fucking they’d done. Duck felt Buddy’s warm breath cool on his skin, and he came harder than he had in any recent memory, falling asleep tangled with Buddy, running his hands through sweaty hair.  
“So why now?” Duck asked later as they both sipped coffee.  
Buddy looked out the window for a long moment, standing at the counter and tracing his thumb around the rim of the cup. “I guess I’m done pretending that my life can fit in a picture frame.”  
“So this isn’t some kind of knight in shining armor ironic thing?” Duck peered over the rim of his own cup. Buddy finally turned to face him. “I don’t know,” he said impassively, “we’re probably both well past that point.”  
**  
“You ever think about leaving?”  
“Where the hell would I go?” Duck murmured, entwining his fingers with Buddy’s. It was a late summer evening, a breeze wafting in through the screen door. They were sitting in the dim living room, Buddy sprawled, his head in Duck’s lap.  
“Anywhere you want,” Buddy said, gazing off into space.  
“Tried that. Didn’t work.” Duck brushed his fingers through Buddy’s hair. “Always thought you’d light out of here after high school.”  
“Tried that. Didn’t work.” Buddy applied the slightest bit of pressure, squeezing Duck’s hand. “Always have to remember where you came from, where you’re wanted,” he murmured.  
Duck stared through the screen door, watching the sun dip below the horizon, and thought. “We’re not all like you Buddy,” he said finally. “We’re not all wanted.” He didn’t feel any trace of bitterness, just the acceptance that comes with the realization that one is powerless to change a reality.  
“We’re alike, you and I.” Buddy’s voice was even, almost blasé. “The people here like us. They like us the way they like that the bridge holds up when they drive over it, they like us the way they like the tide coming in every day. Trouble is, the ones who figure out that it takes a lot of work to hold things together, the way the engineering has to be correct to hold that bridge up, and the way that nature has to work together just so to make that tide come in, who see that there’s a whole lot of complexities going on that they didn’t bargain for, those people bail on us.” He sat up to sit next to Duck, rolling his shoulders and cracking his neck. He finally ventured a look at Duck, who was looking down at his hands. “Carol and Dan aren’t bad people,” Buddy said softly. “They just didn’t know how to be with us.”  
Duck looked at Buddy and quirked an eyebrow. “And you figure we know how to be with each other?”  
“Sure. We’re too old not to try, anyway.” Buddy stood up and held out his hand. “C’mon. Let’s go out.”  
Duck looked up at him, then at the hand, before finally taking it in his own. He shook his head and laughed as they left the house, hand-in-hand.  
“What?” Buddy asked, giving his hand a squeeze.  
“Next year maybe we can lead the parade,” Duck said wryly.


End file.
